You Are Who You Are
by Oconee Belle
Summary: Is it possible to come up with a kind word for every letter in Newkirk's name? There's only one person willing to find out.
1. N

**I'm back! This is a whole new thing for me- posting a story one chapter at a time, over a span of several days. So, have fun reading this major milestone in my writing career, lol!**

NEWKIRK

Carter looked long and hard at the word he had scribbled down in all caps. Days of having nothing to do had either given him a stroke of genius, or a streak of craziness. Either way, the result would be the same. His mom used to do this all the time. She'd take the letters in someone's name and use them to come up with kind words that really spoke of who that person was.

This should be easy. And, it was guaranteed to kill a few minutes of time. So, he tapped his pencil against his cheek thoughtfully, watching as Newkirk beat Kinch at gin for the seventh time that day.

_Let's see, what describes Newkirk __**and **__starts with an N? Neat? No, that's more of Kinch's thing…_He found his thoughts drifting to several days before...

"I 'ave three uniforms to sew before two days are up, and you 'ave the nerve to ask me to darn your bleedin' _socks_?"

"Aw, come on, Newkirk. I would think you'd be happy to take a break from all those _big_ things! Socks are the easy stuff. Plus, you know what they say: 'a stitch in time saves nine.'" Carter grinned, holding out two socks that looked practically beyond repair.

"And just 'ow many stitches did you lose time for already?" Newkirk stared at the socks in disbelief. If Carter thought he was a miracle worker, he'd come to the wrong tailor.

Carter just grinned. "By the looks of them, I'd say about five."

"I'd say forty-five!" Newkirk looked them over with a scrutinizing eye. "Mate, those are done in! Even_ I_ can't save their poor soles."

At that remark, Carter looked like his puppy had just been plowed over by a freight train. "Why not?"

"Andrew, I simply don't 'ave the talent to turn a ruddy fishing net back into socks."

"Can't you at least_ try_?"

Turning his eyes to heaven, Newkirk forced himself to stay calm. "What's so bloody special about _those_ socks? You 'ave ten other pair, for crying out loud!"

"Yeah, but these are different."

Newkirk cocked an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"I've had these since I came over here. I've worn them on so many missions. I had them on when my plane was going down in flames! I'm hoping to keep them until the end of the war. I mean, if this is what my _socks_ look like after a few years, can you imagine what some kid's _feet _might look like if he's been over here even longer then I have?"

Newkirk's expression was unreadable... perhaps because this was the strangest war memorial he had ever laid eyes on. Finally, he cleared his throat and set the uniform he had been working on aside. "Blimey, Andrew, you win. I'm not promising anything, but I'll see what I can do for those ruddy socks of yours."

"Gee, thanks, buddy! You're the best."

~()~

A few hours later, Carter quietly stepped into the sewing room. Newkirk was bent over a uniform, adding some finishing touches. He looked up and his face brightened, "Andrew, come see if this suits you."

Carter came over and Newkirk handed him the socks. They were still terrible, but the effort was there. And that's when he noticed that each hole had a different patch. *Some were grey, some black, others were light brown or olive drab.

Newkirk saw him fingering the patches and softly explained, "I was thinking, Andrew, about what you said. You know, the poor bloke whose feet must be all torn up?"

Carter nodded, never looking up from the tattered cloth.

"Well, all those patches are from different socks. People pass through 'ere all the time and we give them new uniforms to wear. Who knows where all those socks 'ave been? But, they 'ave been on the feet of true 'eroes and soldiers, I can bloody well guarantee that."

"Wow," Carter said at last. He smiled, "That's really kind of you, buddy. I didn't know you'd take this so seriously."

"It's not every day I get to sew together a piece of 'istory, now is it?" Newkirk replied. He went back to the uniform and jabbed his needle down into the thick cloth. For a while, they both just thought of the heroes who had once worn those socks.

But, after a few seconds, Newkirk held his hands out in front of him, "tell me, Andrew, is there anything these nifty fingers _can't_ do?"

How many times had Newkirk's 'Nifty Fingers' saved the whole operation, not to mention made sure that they didn't go around dressed in rags? Carter smiled and touched the pencil to the paper, fondly writing out the first word.

NEWKIRK

Nifty

**Author's Note: **

**The colors of the socks are real colors used by several Armies: Americans, British, and German. If Newkirk used a grey sock (German) he would have used one from a defector who had wanted to come over to the other side.**


	2. E

"All prisoners are expected to be on their best behavior while General Krause is visiting," Klink was doing his _best_ to make that an order. "If one person is out of line, I will make you watch me as I smash all of your Tommy Dorsey records!"

Several boos and cries of protest rose up from the lines of prisoners.

"Kommandant, have a heart! You know that music holds the hopes and dreams of this entire camp!"

"Then your men better keep that in mind, Hogan. Dismissed," Klink spun on his heel and marched back into the Kommandantur.

LeBeau added several more boos as the prisoners broke up and went their ways. Schultz started scolding him on how good little POWs don't go around making fun of Germans. It just wasn't very nice.

Hogan rolled his eyes, a grin spreading across his face. "LeBeau, I thought your mother raised you to have good manners."

"Jawhol!" Schultz shook his head in disappointment, "Cockroach, what if your muttie was here right now?"

"Mon Maman would be pleased that I am a proud Frenchman."

At the insulted look on Schultz's face, Hogan put an arm around LeBeau's shoulders, "Alright, Proud Frenchman, I say we go inside so you can make us some proud French food."

LeBeau did a slight but dramatic bow, "My pleasure, Mon Colonel."

"Colonel," Kinch greeted them as they entered the barracks. "I got the information from London on General Krause."

"Good. Let's see if his reputation precedes him, shall we?" Hogan stepped into his office, followed by the four core members of his team. He read over the note, took in a sharp breath, and read over it again. That was never a good sign.

Newkirk took a step closer, "What does it say, Guv?"

"My strict motto of 'never trust the Gestapo' is about to be broken."

"What are you talking about, Colonel?" LeBeau stood on tiptoe so he could read over Hogan's shoulder.

Sighing, Hogan handed him the note. "This fella is a defector, and it's our job to make sure he makes it out of Germany, by midnight tonight."

"Oh boy! Just how are we gonna do that without Klink knowing?" Carter frowned. "It's not like we can kidnap a Kraut General and say he ran away from home!" All eyes turned to Carter, and he had his signature 'what did I do' expression, looking from one man to the next.

"Just leave that to me, Andrew," Newkirk said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Mates, I think _I_ just revealed that _I_ was a member of the Underground, and now the bloody Gestapo wants to take _me_ in for questioning. Pity, General Krause takes a wrong turn and meets up with 'is submarine for England."

"So, you mean you're going to _tell _him you're in the Underground?" Hogan crossed his arms over his chest.

"Something like that, Sir. Then, when 'e's supposed to be taking me to Berlin, I 'elp 'im get to the Underground agents that will in turn get 'im to London."

Hogan sighed, "And, if he's bluffing? As so many Krauts love to do?"

"That would be rotten luck, Sir. But, the Underground's cleared 'im, 'aven't they?"

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Finally, Hogan spoke, "Kinch, radio the Underground. Get them to have two agents at lily pad five. We'll get General Krause to them, and they can take it from there."

"Yes, Sir, Colonel," Kinch nodded and left the room.

Newkirk took a step closer to Hogan, "But what about me? 'Ow do I get back to camp, then?"

Hogan didn't answer, but instead turned to Carter, "Newkirk's going to be your prisoner when you escort him back to camp, after his intense "questioning". Klink will never know the difference."

Carter sighed. _Oh great, here we go again…_

~HH~

"Klink, I already _know_ you have the cooler! But, the best facilities are in Berlin!"

"But, Herr General, Corporal Newkirk is _my_ prisoner-,"

"And he is a dangerous threat to the Third Reich! Do you want to call the Führer and explain to him why you insist on using the cooler, when you can have the best torture chambers in all of Germany?!" Gestapo General Krause bellowed, snatching up the phone. "I must warn you, the Führer does _not_ like getting rudely awakened from his afternoon nap, especially if it is a simple matter such as this."

"Of course not!" Klink grabbed the phone and quickly hung up. "My prisoner is your prisoner, Herr General."

"That is what I thought," General Krause sneered, fixing Klink with an evil glare that made the Kommandant shake in his boots. "Corporal Newkirk will be…treated nicely while he is away. We will make sure of that."

"Jawhol, Herr General! Take them all, if you must!" Klink's voice trembled, and he had no idea what he was talking about anymore.

"Klink, I would rather vacation on the Russian Front than run such a loose, disgraceful POW camp." The General didn't even give Klink time to click his heels. He left the Kommandantur, and the bewildered Colonel Klink, behind.

~HH~

Carter took his cue when General Krause demanded that Corporal Newkirk be brought to him at once, scaring the daylights out of Schultz.

The young technical sergeant darted into the crowd of curious prisoners. He opened the trunk to the General's staff car and tossed in his Gestapo uniform before jumping in himself. Colonel Hogan had set up this part of the plan without the general knowing. Carter was Newkirk's ride back 'home',_ and _his life insurance.

"Schultz, you tell him this is against the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention!" Hogan ran up to the Sergeant of the Guard, breathlessly panting out, "He won't listen to an American like me!"

"Colonel Hogan, in my opinion, _all _of the Gestapo outrank _everyone_, _including _sergeants like me," Schultz sounded very distressed, but not brave enough to voice his real opinion. Typical.

"He can't do that!" Hogan protested. He grabbed General Krause by his sleeve, "That's _my_ man you've got there!"

The General brushed Hogan off, his tone clipped and cold. "My dear Colonel Hogan, he's _my_ man now."

Hogan's hair stood up on the back of his neck. This guy was a phenomenal actor. If he didn't know that this was pretend, he could have sworn that the General meant every word.

Newkirk looked Hogan in the eye, "It's not your fault, Guv. I did it to meself, I did. Never should 'ave mistaken 'im for a bloody Underground agent."

Newkirk's acting skills were pretty convincing, too. Hogan had to fight the lump out of his throat as the door slammed shut, trapping his corporal in the car. Months of worrying about this very scenario, only to act it out, didn't settle well with him.

And, as the car drove away, Hogan let out a long breath, "London better know what they're talking about. If anything happens to Newkirk with that General-,"

"He'll be fine, Colonel," Kinch quickly assured him as they went inside. "And, if this guy isn't on the up and ups, we're gonna be right behind him the entire time."

At that, Hogan looked at Kinch with a weak grin. "Let's go get ready, then."

They were another part of the plan that the General didn't know about. After all, if Carter was Newkirk's life insurance, then someone had to be Carter's.

~HH~

Newkirk turned to the General with a brief nod.

General Krause smiled coldly, "Driver, pull over."

"Jawhol, Herr General." The car slowed to a stop.

In one swift movement, the General had reached across to the front seat and had brought the butt of his gun down on the back of the driver's neck. The young man slumped over the wheel.

"Right, this is where we get off, then," Newkirk said as he got out of the car. "There's a cabin about 'alf a mile into the woods. I'll take you there, and after that, the other agents will tell you what to do next."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, my dear Corporal. See, this is where _you _are, what is the phrase for it? Ah, 'bumped off.'"

Newkirk felt the blood drain from his face. He blinked hard, wondering if he had heard the General right.

"But, out in the open simply won't do. I have a feeling your little team of friends, or shall I say, _bear cubs_, isn't very far from here. After all, where Papa Bear goes, the little ones tend to follow."

Setting his chin, Newkirk locked eyes with General Krause. For whatever reason, the crazy Kraut thought he was Papa Bear. So be it.

"Let's go on a nice little stroll through the woods. Don't try anything funny, or our 'stroll' will be cut short, in a rather, rude way."

"Since I was a wee li'l tot, I knew not to mess with the brass. Me mum made sure of that," Newkirk smirked. As long as there was breath inside of him, he'd use it to mock the enemy. That was just how it was going to be.

"Good, then we should get along just fine. Raus!" General Krause jabbed Newkirk in the back with his pistol, leading him off into the woods.

~HH~

From inside of the trunk, Carter had broken into a cold sweat. He may not have heard everything, but he had heard enough to know that Newkirk was in trouble. Big trouble.

That General had given him the creeps ever since he'd driven into camp. For a guy who was defecting, he was pretty mean and nasty about it. And now, it was clear that General Krause had more than defection on his mind.

Thank goodness Carter had left the trunk open a crack. After a few more seconds of careful listening, he slowly lifted the lid of the trunk and peeked outside. The coast was clear. He cautiously climbed out.

First, he'd make sure that the driver wasn't going anywhere. Then, he'd make sure that his friend wasn't going anywhere, either.

~HH~

"Alright, Corporal, let's have us a little talk. London is in touch with Stalag 13. How?" General Krause slapped Newkirk across the cheek with his leather gloves.

Newkirk flinched, but didn't say anything. He was handcuffed to a small tree, and in no position to fight back. All he could do now was sit here and bear it, no matter how hard 'it' got.

"After several months of my cooperation, London sends me there. They say you have 'ways' to get me out of Germany. Your operation must be deeper than just a hidden radio, if you know what I'm getting at."

Newkirk maintained a blank expression. The slightest twitch could give them away. Instead, he focused on the bulging vein on the General's neck. It was pulsing rapidly…

Right now, this was child's play. Pretty soon, Newkirk had the idea that it would be a lot worse. He had heard stories...

And then he remembered. "When a child can walk where adults are afraid to go, then when he grows up, he can surely be even braver still." The little boy Newkirk had taken great comfort in his mother's words. She had wiped the tears from his eyes, and scrubbed the blood from his busted lip.

It was her way of telling him that he was brave, and a little thing like a busted lip and black eye couldn't stop him. Not even if the fist that dealt them belonged to the biggest, meanest kid around.

Now, he grinned as a fresh sting spread over his cheeks. Nothing could stop him; he was almost laughing at the irony.

"You think I am soft?" General Kraus' eyes glimmered with something fierce. "By the time I am done with you, you will be so soft that your friends will have trouble recognizing you!" He raised his riding crop over his head, and slammed it into Newkirk's side.

Stars exploded before Newkirk's eyes, and he sucked in a sharp breath. This was kid's play, he could take it.

"You should be very grateful that I did not take you to Berlin. Out here in the woods, my resources are primitive. It is a very good thing _my _mother taught me how to be resourceful."

Again, he brought his crop against Newkirk's side, and the young corporal felt himself drifting.

"See, you are the one who is soft…so soft…already given up…"

He could barely hear the words anymore, but felt himself being pulled to his feet, only to be thwacked in the stomach. "Who are your friends?"

"Can't 'ave friends in the East End."

Again, he was slammed with the riding crop. "The only games I play are my own. Who are your friends? Where are they?"

"Only the birds. *One 'undred and twenty-nine of them, there is. Well built-,"

"You will answer my questions, Papa Bear, or I will find all of them on my own and make you watch as I break them."

"I'd 'ate to 'ear so many ladies scream."

General Krause grinned evilly, "In my line of work, anything is possible."

The next blow was so hard that Newkirk cried out before biting his tongue. What was wrong with him? He couldn't break. This was child's play, and he wasn't the child.

"Boy, then I bet you'd hate to have your first day off," said a voice from behind them. A gun came down on the General's neck, and he slumped to the ground with a solid thud. Carter was on him in a heartbeat, and had his riding crop and pistol before Newkirk could even register what had just happened.

"One wrong move and you're fired, buster," Carter grumbled to the unconscious man, before slowly making his way over to Newkirk and taking in the scene. "That's gotta hurt! Don't worry, buddy, I'll have you out of those cuffs in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

He cautiously went back over to the German, and started digging in his pockets. Those keys had to be in there somewhere!

Newkirk couldn't help but grin, despite the burning pain. Carter had pulled through. He had saved the day.

Finally, after much rummaging, Carter found the keys and set to work, keeping the cuffs form rubbing against the raw skin as best as he could. "Alright, Newkirk, you're free," his tone was soft and reassuring.

"Free as a bird," Newkirk mumbled, grasping his aching wrists.

Carter took the handcuffs, and was all business again. The General was coming around, and Carter couldn't help striking a little more fear into his cold heart. "Here's the deal. You cooperate and let me put these on you, or you do things the hard way. Only, I won't sit around patiently, 'cause I'm a very impatient man when it comes to someone who messes with my friends. So, what's it gonna be, buster?"

The dazed Nazi held out his hands, and Carter directed him by gun point to the tree. He cuffed him to it, as roughly as possible. General Krause slumped against the tree trunk in defeat, not meeting Carter's eyes.

With him out of the way, Carter turned his attention back to Newkirk, "Lemme see your wrists."

"There fine," Newkirk jerked away, his pride covering the pain. His tone clearly said to 'shut up'.

Carter looked like he was going to say something anyway, but he changed his mind. He knew that Newkirk didn't want to be coddled, especially in front of this mean Kraut. Instead, he went back to General Krause, "One word out of you, and Hitler just might as well have your goose for Christmas dinner."

The General's eyes were like piercing slits, but he said nothing. A few tense seconds passed.

"They'll be here," Carter read Newkirk's thoughts. "I'm sure of it."

"Jerries are in these woods too, mate."

"They'll be here. I promise," Carter said reassuringly. Newkirk was obviously on edge, and after such an ordeal, who wouldn't be? Carter had only seen a little bit of what was going on, and it certainly wasn't very pretty.

Newkirk nodded and gingerly held his side. They'd _better_ come quickly. He wasn't particularly fond of trusting a Kraut to keep his mouth shut, Christmas dinner or no Christmas dinner. And, something needed to distract him from the pain. "'ow did you find us?"

Carter grinned, "I'm part Sioux, remember? I tracked you guys down. It was easy, if ya think about it. All you need are a few crumpled leaves, a snapped twig, maybe a footprint or two, and bingo! Whoever you're after doesn't stand a chance!"

"Right," Newkirk looked away, scanning the surrounding forest. "We should take 'im to the cabin. Too many Jerries are out 'ere, and who knows if the bleedin' Krauts 'ave run across the car? The driver could be waking up, without you there to take care of 'im. Blimey, why didn't the Guv think of that?"

Before Carter could reply, there was rustling in the bushes. He aimed attentively, waiting. LeBeau's red beret appeared, and Carter lowered the gun with a sigh of relief.

"Mes amis!" The Frenchman broke free from the bushes and rushed over to them. Newkirk managed a weak grin, but LeBeau instantly saw the pain in his eyes. "What did the filthy boche do to you, mon ami? Are you alright?" Although asking Newkirk that question, he was glaring daggers at the Kraut in front of him.

"Just me wrists, mate."

Carter's shoulders tensed at the falsity of that statement, but he didn't say anything. When LeBeau saw the raw skin, he went sheet white and nervously fingered his thumbs. "Filthy pigs!"

Just than, Hogan emerged from the bushes, "I see you've been busy." One look at Newkirk and he knew 'busy' was an understatement. He trained his pistol to the General, "On your feet. We're moving out."

"Yeah, what he said!" Carter growled. "On your feet and that's an order."

The General didn't budge. He just sat there, glaring at them all with flaming blue eyes. If they thought he'd listen to their 'orders', they were painfully mistaken. He'd had enough of that, the few months he had 'cooperated' with London.

Hogan sent Carter a sideways glance as he gagged the General. "The keys, Carter, unless you're planning on taking him, tree and all."

"Oh, yes, sir!"

Now it was Hogan's turn to be as rough as possible. He jerked the General up, ignoring the gasp of pain. Only then did he unlock the cuffs, just to free the General from the tree before slamming them on again. He hoped the silent message had been received. _Nobody messes with __**my**__ men._

Once their prisoner had been secured, Hogan gave a low whistle and two Underground agents appeared from hiding, their guns trained to the General. They didn't seem very fond with the rough handling of Newkirk, either.

"General Krause is still going to London," Hogan commanded. "Only this time, he's going as a prisoner of war."

~HH~

The young driver hadn't been a challenge. Kinch didn't really have to intimidate him, because he looked pretty intimidated already. After all, his own General had knocked him out. But, the stony glare Kinch gave him clearly said that he just might be knocked out again if he tried anything funny.

Kinch looked up from the bushes he and the driver were hiding in, and sighed with relief when he saw Newkirk still in one piece, walking towards them.

The Englishmen grinned tiredly, "'Ello, Kinch."

Kinch nodded, "Welcome back, Peter."

"Alright, Kinch," Hogan crouched low beside his radio man. "You and LeBeau are taking the driver to the cabin so he can meet up with his boss and have a nice ride to England." He looked up at Carter, "Carter, you and I are sticking with plan A and getting Newkirk back to Stalag 13. Alright, let's move it."

Kinch pulled the driver to his feet. The kid didn't fight back.

LeBeau kept his voice low, "What if Schultz sees you, Colonel?"

"Don't worry, LeBeau. I'm sure Schultz will forget he even laid eyes on me, especially when he forgets to look at my driver."

A grin spread across the Frenchman's face and he lightly punched Newkirk's arm. "When I get back, Pierre, I'll make a delicious meal for you. You'll feel much better with something warm on your stomach, mon pote."

"What are you trying to do, Louie? Tempt me, or run me off?"

Hogan rolled his eyes. At least Newkirk's tongue was working fine. That meant the rest of him probably wasn't that bad off, either.

~HH~

Hogan looked across the back seat at his friend, "What did he do to you, Newkirk?"

Newkirk's eyes were sliding closed and he leaned his head against the car window, "Just tried to be friendly the only way 'e knew 'ow, Sir."

Hogan wasn't very satisfied with that answer. "And that involved?"

"'E 'it me, Sir, with 'is riding crop, and me wrists are sore. Permission to sleep, Sir?"

"Request postponed." There were still things that needed to be said. "I am very proud of you two. _You _didn't spill information, and Carter," Hogan looked up into the mirror at their driver. "_You _got him out of a jam. Well done, men."

"When a child can walk where adults are afraid to go, then when he grows up, he can surely be even braver still." Newkirk mumbled sleepily, his breath fogging up the glass of the window.

Both Hogan's and Carter's eyebrows went up. Newkirk, coming up with a poetic saying? He must really be out of it.

Newkirk didn't hear what Hogan said next, but Carter did. "Well, Newkirk, you must have been one exceptional kid. I don't know many grown men who manage to sniff out so much trouble, and heaven only knows what you were like as a boy."

Carter glanced up into the mirror at his English friend, conked out against the window. True, Newkirk went through the extremes to be the exception. His current line of work called for that, and Carter wouldn't doubt it if his childhood had as well.

He now knew what the next letter would be.

NEWKIRK

Nifty

Exceptional

**Author's Note:**

**1) I believe it's the last episode where Newkirk states that in his black book are one-hundred and twenty-nine well-built English women. I wouldn't doubt it for a second. **


	3. W

That night, Schultz had been the only one who knew (nothing) of a staff car full of prisoners driving up to camp. After all, whatever monkey business they had previously been involved in was already over. Hogan had dashed out of the car so quickly that Schultz soon forgot that Hogan had even been involved.

As far as Klink was concerned, the Gestapo had dropped Newkirk off some time during the night, and had sped off to Berlin in a hurry, for some important business. Schultz also forgot to mention that the one speeding off was Sergeant Carter, and he definitely forgot to mention that Carter had reappeared at morning roll call.

As for General Krause, Klink didn't really want to know anything more about the scary man. The Gestapo, of course, did want to know all about the General. Unfortunately, all they uncovered was the General's staff car, abandoned at a parking lot in Hammelburg.

Aside from that, General Krause had left no trace, and his travel plans were only known by him and several core members of Papa Bear's team. He had virtually disappeared, along with his driver, and the Gestapo didn't know where to look first. They finally decided that he had gone traitor and was now somewhere with his feet up, safely in London.

So, things were finally getting back to abnormal once again. Newkirk was faring better. Klink used the whole ordeal as an opportune moment to remind all of the prisoners that he was strong, but just. Never, under any circumstances, would he inflict harm on them, unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary. He had topped off his speech by granting Newkirk two weeks off the work detail so he could "rest in peace".

Of course, at _that_ little comment, all of the prisoners started jeering at him, so with an "umph!" he retreated back to his Kommandantur.

Newkirk's side was still sore, but the barrack's doctor, Sergeant Wilson, had assured Hogan that it was nothing terribly serious…

"I thought you said your mum taught you 'ow to cook, Louie."

"If that insult wasn't a sign from heaven that you're feeling better, I would have _killed_ you for it!" LeBeau hissed, slowly stirring something on the stove.

"The angels must be whispering in your ear, mate. You'd never stand a chance else wise."

"Do you want to put that in writing?" LeBeau dropped his spoon in the pot and marched over to Newkirk's bunk, glaring up at his friend.

"Mate, I'd stamp it on me forehead."

LeBeau rolled up his sleeves, "Oh, you would, would you?"

Before either of them could say anything more, Carter interrupted from the table. "Hey, do any of you guys know some good words that start with a 'W'? Why did the alphabet even need a stupid W anyway? Shucks, we already had a U."

"For starters, Andrew, you just used that bleeding letter about five times."

Carter looked up, "Well-,"

"Just used it again," Newkirk smirked.

"Why don't you just shove off and answer my question?"

"Two more times. Blimey, Andrew, you're doing well without our 'elp."

LeBeau rolled his eyes and came over to the table, "What are you working on, André?"

"Um," Carter covered up the paper. "It's a surprise."

"And you want a 'W'?" LeBeau went back over to the stove, "French doesn't use that letter, unless, of course, it is borrowed from another language. And in that case-,"

"Oh, come on, this is serious!"

"Wisdom, work, or wealth?" Kinch spoke up from his bunk, before another argument broke out.

"Now we know 'is secret to a good life," Newkirk quipped. Carter spun around on the bench and glared up at him. The Englishman blinked innocently, which of course looked like a little devil trying on a halo for the first time.

Now it was Olsen's turn to delay the inevitable fight, "What about, welcome, wonderful, or winter?"

Carter turned back around, shaking his head, "No, no, and no. I guess I'll just try to think it up on my own. But, thanks anyway, guys."

"'Ey, Andrew, 'old on just a tick.'Ow about, Witty Women Wonderland? I 'ear its open year round, and a right lovely place to vacation."

LeBeau shook his head, "Always another wisecrack. C'est dommage, André. I cannot think of anything."

Carter's face suddenly brightened, "LeBeau, that'll work just great!" He quickly scribbled down something on a crumpled piece of paper, shielding it from everyone's eyes.

Cocking an eyebrow, Newkirk sent LeBeau a questioning look, but the French corporal simply shrugged his shoulders.

Carter admired the piece of paper, and leaned back from the table in satisfaction, "Just four more to go!"

NEWKIRK

Nifty

Exceptional

Wisecracker


	4. K

Chapter Four: K

Carter sat up, breathing hard. He was still trembling. That dream had been so real. And then, a hand rested on his shoulder.

"You alright, Andrew?"

He gulped and nodded, trying to catch his breath. He couldn't answer, not yet.

Newkirk didn't press him, but slipped over to the sink and filled a mug up with water, bringing it to the bedside. "Nice and slow, mate," he handed Carter the mug. "Too fast and you just might as well strangle yourself."

Carter sipped the cool water for several seconds before handing it back to Newkirk. "Thanks," he whispered, lowering himself down onto the hard mattress.

"This is the third time this week," Newkirk commented, setting the half full cup on the table. "It might 'elp if you talk it out, Andrew."

"I, it's nothing, really, buddy. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Blimey, you 'onestly think a bloke can sleep on a 'ard bed like that?" Newkirk joked lightheartedly. Then, his face became serious, "Mate, if you tell me what they're about, it might 'elp them to stop."

Carter looked at Newkirk long and hard. He appeared sincerely concerned, and, quite honestly, Carter didn't know if he could keep it inside much longer. "Okay," He sighed, slowly propping up on his elbow. "You know how I was going to leave you guys for Mary Jane?"

"That bird in Frog Town North Dakota?"

"_Bull Frog_ North Dakota," Carter corrected. "And, yeah, that's the one. Well, I don't know why, but for some reason, now I dream that I _did_ leave, and all of you guys had to run the operation without me. Have you ever seen LeBeau try to defuse a bomb, or, or _you_ setting charges the wrong way? I can tell you one thing; it always ended in a big BOOM!"

Carter didn't have on that signature smile that he usually wore while describing explosions, and Newkirk quickly noticed.

"Somehow, even though I was gone, I still got you guys killed. Because, I wasn't there to help out, and none of you even know the first thing about demolitions."

"Mate, those are dreams."

"But, I could have made them real, Newkirk! Rule number one: Never let a girl distract you from what's really important. And, I did, boy! If I had escaped, all of you would be dead. You need me on your team, or-,"

"We wouldn't be a team," Newkirk finished for him, his voice still low. "Andrew, what matters is that you didn't follow through with it. You kept your chin up and stayed 'ere with the rest of us. If good ol' Mary Jane didn't see that kind of loyalty in you, she 'as to be blind. And, you bloody well let 'er be. One day, after this whole bleedin' war is over, you're going to find yourself some pretty little bird who likes the loyalty she sees in you."

Carter swallowed, hard. Had Newkirk ever had a meaningful conversation with anyone else before, or was _he_ the only one? Either way, he felt himself relax just a little bit more. "Yeah, yeah, that's right! I stuck with you guys, even when I could have run off," he looked up at Newkirk with a grin. "Thanks buddy. I didn't see it like that."

"Think nothing of it, mate," Newkirk stood and put a hand on Carter's shoulder. "And, Andrew, pleasant dreams."

Carter smiled with a nod and snuggled back down into the scratchy blanket, closing his eyes. No one had ever had such a deep conversation with him before- not even the Colonel, or Kinch. But now, Newkirk had.

Just as he was drifting off, something made him think of his piece of crinkled paper. With a sleepy sigh, he made a mental note to add another word tomorrow.

NEWKIRK

Nifty

Exceptional

Wisecracker

Kind


	5. I

Chapter Five: I

"Mon Colonel, I-,"

"LeBeau, you're the only one who can fit in that safe, unless you'd like to point out someone else."

"Why can't Kinch fix the coffee pot?" LeBeau still wasn't buying it.

"Sorry, Louis, but those wires are fried. I'm getting some more in our next air drop, but that'll be a few days," Kinch sighed, genuinely sorry for his friend.

"But, lucky for us, we have a ticket to Klink's meeting," Hogan put an arm around LeBeau's shoulders. "And it's just the right size to fit in his safe."

The French corporal nodded sarcastically, "You must remember to write mon maman, and tell her 'merci for giving Louie your genes,'" LeBeau scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But Guv, what about the Krauts? Won't they be a might suspicious if I just drop in and say, 'ello, mates. You wouldn't mind if I lock me friend Louie in Klink's safe for a tick, would you? Sometimes, 'e just gets on me nerves, and this is the only way to cool 'is 'ead?"

"I've been thinking about that," Hogan replied. "And, a false fire alarm seems like just the thing for a distraction."

~HH~

LeBeau slipped into the Kommandantur as Colonel Hogan tried to calm down the three Germans. Helga was definitely calm, but, unfortunately, Hogan didn't have the same soothing affect on the other two Krauts. Especially Klink.

Newkirk was already at work, kneeling down by the safe as the smoke bombs fizzled with steam. He had the safe open in no time. "Alright, Louie, in you go."

"Why did I have to be so short?" LeBeau grumbled as he crawled into the safe. One look at the twinkle in Newkirk's eye, and he huffed, "Don't answer that!"

In a few quick seconds, the safe was closed, and Newkirk picked up the water bucket he had brought with him, splashing it into the waste basket. By now, the steam was naturally dying down on its own.

"Fire's out!" Newkirk shouted, running from the building. He added a touch of exaggeration when he broke into a coughing fit, "Just a ciggie in the waste basket, sir," he reported to Klink, eyeing the young Lieutenant who had gone into the office just moments before with a smoke.

"Vat?" the Gestapo man sneered. "I put it out, I sveare!"

"Newkirk, are you alright?" Hogan ran over to his man. "That was some fire! Are you burned? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Enough, Hogan!" Klink growled. "Your man is fine."

"If you don't mind, Kommandant, _I'd_ like to hear it straight from the hero's mouth."

"No need for concern, Guv. I'm right as rain."

"There, Hogan, he is fine. _Dismissed!_" Klink attempted to shoo them away as if they were annoying little school boys.

"Get a load of that! Put out a man's fire, and you might as well be just another face in the crowd! Come on, Newkirk. Let's get out of here."

"Sir, we're prisoners," Newkirk calmly pointed out, a hint of a grin toying at the corner of his lips.

"Right," Hogan scratched his chin. "Then, back to the barracks, I guess."

"Humph!" Klink snorted. "Always so proud, so arrogant."

"Klink, I do not have time for this," the Lieutenant growled. He started back for the Kommandantur, "Let's get on vith our meeting, shall ve?"

~HH~

"That's one long meeting," Carter glanced out the window for the one millionth time. "Gee, I sure hope Louie's alright."

All eyes turned to Colonel Hogan, who didn't look up from his pacing. Newkirk cleared his throat, "Guv, much longer and 'e'll run out of air."

"I know, I know," Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Any ideas?"

"How about we start a riot?" Kinch suggested.

"Or, we go on bleedin' strike and claim we are quitting the prisoner business?"

"If only," Hogan quipped, tilting his head in thought.

"Or, maybe, we come in to clean the room, hear ticking, and convince Klink there's a bomb in his safe. Then, we take it out to the middle of the compound, crack Louie out, and realize that it's just LeBeau's watch?"

"And how would we explain the French corporal attached to the watch?" Hogan's tone took an edge. "Focus, Carter. We don't have much time. Gestapo usually don't stay for tea, and I was really expecting him to be at least in the VIP quarters by now, if not on his way back to Berlin."

"Andrew does make a point, sir. If we can't get the brass away from Louie, we need to get Louie away from the brass," Newkirk pointed out.

"And shop lifting a _whole _safe, right out from under the noses of two Krauts, is your idea of _helping_ LeBeau?"

"We at least have to get one or the other out of there," Kinch scratched the top his head and looked at his watch. "Holy cats, it's been too long."

~HH~

Klink was astounded by the crowd of prisoners at his desk, interrupting his 'important' meeting. What a day for him to let Schultz go on leave!

"Kommandant, may I speak with you?"

"Sir, me mate Louie keeled over in a dead faint!"

"We think he might have a fever! He's not waking up, and it's been ten whole minutes!"

"Maybe your quarters would be more ideal?"

"Is LeBeau going to be alright?"

"Isn't there some sort of plague going around? This could mean quarantine!"

Newkirk ducked around the crowd of prisoners, who, despite Klink's desperate orders, were still pouring into the room like an endless school of fish. They were as tightly packed as a can of sardines already, and were still going strong for the world record of fitting the most people into an office.

Quick as a flash, he silently dropped down to his knees and worked his magic. The door to the safe swung open, and LeBeau tumbled out, totally unconscious. In a matter of seconds, the safe was closed again and Newkirk had gotten LeBeau behind the crowd of prisoners.

"One at a time! Ho-gaaannn! Who died of what fever, who jumped off the roof, and who fell in the river- _we don't even have a river!_"

"LeBeau, sir," Hogan quickly spoke up. "And, you gotta help him. He's hanging on by a thread." He snapped his fingers. "Newkirk!"

Newkirk brought LeBeau forward, "Sir, 'e's the only Frenchman we've got."

"And he ate a poisonous plant from my garden, too?" Klink was totally baffled by all the stories that were being thrown at him. Although, this one from Carter was actually concerning him. _Didn't I just eat some, hopefully cabbage, from my garden this morning?_

Both he and the Gestapo agent looked LeBeau over, and met eyes. "Of course he's ill, Hogan. Take him to the infirmary, and, by all means, clean your barracks from top to bottom! Schell!"

Everybody left in a chaotic flood, yelling, elbowing, stomping, but also hiding the sneaky grins on their faces. They had saved LeBeau! All of them, as a team.

~HH~

"Louie, wake up. We're 'ome," Newkirk gently tapped LeBeau's cheek with the back of his hand. He got no response. He looked up into Hogan's concerned eyes and shrugged hopefully, "At least 'e's breathing, sir."

"Yeah, well I want more than just breathing. Keep at it, Newkirk."

Carter peered over Newkirk's shoulder, whispering encouragement under his breath, urging LeBeau to open his eyes.

"Look, Andrew. I never could do something with someone peering over me shoulder."

"Sorry," Carter took a step back, and the Colonel moved into his spot.

"Blimey, you'd think I was running a bloody circus," Newkirk mumbled, but the worry in his voice was evident. After all, LeBeau _had _been in there for a long time.

Finally, the corporal's eyes slid open briefly, and he mumbled something in French before drifting off again.

Kinch stifled a laugh and Hogan lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "He said, 'Later my dear. I'm exhausted,'" the radio man explained.

Hogan shook his head with a smile, "Well, we know somebody's going to live to see another day."

With more prodding from Newkirk, and more silent encouragement from Carter, LeBeau came around again and blinked in confusion.

"Louie, it's about time you opened your eyes," the relief in Newkirk's voice spoke volumes. No matter how tough he appeared, LeBeau _had_ scared him.

"It is about time _you_ rescued me," LeBeau protested, his eyes sliding closed again. "I almost thought you had forgotten about me."

"Forgotten you?" Hogan took a step closer. "How can you say that? You're irreplaceable. We'd starve to death without you."

Although LeBeau appeared to be asleep, his eyebrows rose at that comment.

"What about me, sir?" Newkirk said, in mock offence. "I got 'im out, with a little 'elp from me magic fingers."

Hogan draped an arm around Newkirk's shoulders, "You're irreplaceable, too, Newkirk. Magic fingers and all."

"Did you hear anything important, Louie?" Leave it to Kinch to bring them back to the present situation.

"Oui. There is going to be an exchange of valuable information in two days. One of our own in the Underground has gone traitor!" LeBeau's eyes blazed with anger. "Le Gestapo Lieutenant wants Klink to make sure that our 'loose little POW camp' doesn't get involved. He has his suspicions of us, Colonel."

"Well, we'll confirm his suspicions. But for now, let's act like we know NOTHING, NOTHING."

At that, everyone fell quiet, as if nothing had happened. Newkirk stood up from the bench, "Well, chaps, I think I'll 'ave a smoke. Louie?"

LeBeau shook his head and got up from the bottom bunk, "I must start on lunch before you all starve, just as Le Colonel said."

Newkirk nodded and headed out the door.

The Colonel had been right about those two, Carter mused. And, at that, he knew what the next letter would be. He took his wrinkled-up paper and pencil from his pocket, and pressed it against the bunk post for a firm foundation.

NEWKIRK

Nifty

Exceptional

Wisecracker

Kind

Irreplaceable

**Author's Note:**

**Hey guys! I know it's been a while…sorry about that! On the bright side, yesterday was my birthday!**

**And, before you ask, I don't feel much different than I did before. ;-) **

**Just two more chapters to go! Any guesses at what the next letters will be? I can almost guarantee that ya'll won't be able to guess the last K…so I'll be extremely impressed if you end up getting it. ****Anyway, hopefully my next chapter will be up before long. **


	6. R

Chapter Six: R

"What do you mean, the Colonel's dead?!" Carter demanded.

LeBeau hung his head, fighting to keep his voice steady, "Le Gestapo was not joking about that meeting in the barn, André. But, the Boche saw us before we were able to attack. I, alone, escaped."

The other three heroes looked at each other in stunned silence. Why did that Gestapo Lieutenant have to come by Stalag 13? Why did the Colonel insist on getting that information, whatever it had been, to London? And why did Hogan only want LeBeau to go with him for back up?

Newkirk kept his head, "Did they follow you, Louie? Did they know you were prisoners of war?"

LeBeau wiped the tears from his eyes, "Non. Le Colonel and I crept around to the front of the barn, ready to ambush. And then, all I heard was the shooting. He went down. I tried to get to him, but they saw me, and when I shot at them, they left Mon Colonel and chased after me. I had no other choice, but to run."

"They could trace 'im back 'ere any time now," Newkirk turned to Kinch. "Mate, if we want to skip our date with the firing squad, we need to be ready to bug out of 'ere at any second, and destroy all evidence to boot."

"I know," Kinch unfolded his handkerchief and handed it to Carter, whose eyes had started to flood with tears.

LeBeau leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, "Filthy pigs, shooting Le Colonel."

"What's done is done, Louie," Newkirk mumbled, rifling through some papers.

"How can you be so heartless?!" LeBeau snapped. "Our leader was killed, do you not understand, Pierre? And, all you worry about is paper!"

Newkirk threw down the stack of paper and marched over, "Well, _somebody_ 'as to worry about it! Mate, we can't bring the Colonel back, but at least we can keep the rest of our bloody necks in working order! It's not just the Colonel, Louis. The rest of us, we could meet the same fate too if we don't keep our 'eads and ditch some of this bleedin' evidence!"

Carter couldn't take it anymore. In a manner of two hours, their whole mission had been derailed. He always knew it could happen, but he wasn't ready for it today.

~()~

Carter was exhausted- physically and emotionally. At the drop of a hat, the whole mission could be swept under the rug, and the prisoners could disappear. Newkirk had pushed them until they were sure that at any moment, they could be gone. The tunnels could be gone. The prisoners. The evidence.

And now, all Carter wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep, even if he wasn't dressed for bed. It was very late, and he didn't want to be awake anymore. It hurt to think that the Colonel's room sat empty.

Newkirk stayed by the window, keeping the shutters open a crack. He wanted to be one step ahead of the Krauts no matter what. Carter looked down past the foot of his bed, and at Newkirk's face in the sliver of moon light. Something about him was off, and it wasn't just the sadness in his eyes. He was serious. Very serious. He had taken over.

But, Carter couldn't think anymore. He felt himself drifting off somewhere else, and he was glad of it. Right now he wanted to be anywhere, but here.

~()~

Someone shook him, hard. He groaned and pushed whoever it was out of his face. "Wake up, Andrew. He's back," Kinch whispered.

"Who's back?" Carter mumbled sleepily.

"The Colonel."

Carter's eyes flew open and he jumped up, hitting his head on the bunk above him. "Ooof! Colonel! You're home! I guess you didn't die, did ya?"

"No, Carter, I guess not," Hogan chuckled, wrapping an arm around Carter's shoulders.

"Sacre chat!" LeBeau practically fell from his bed. "Mon Colonel!" Carter saw the color drain from LeBeau's face, even though it was still dark. He looked like he was going to faint.

Kinch's white teeth shone in a big, open toothed smile, "Welcome back, Colonel."

Only Newkirk didn't say anything. He just stood there, blinking, while the rest of the prisoners quietly greeted their Colonel.

"Come into my quarters, men. I need somebody to tell me what's going on," Hogan finally said.

The four other Heroes followed him into his private quarters where they all crowded around his flashlight, explaining to him what had happened, a little too fast. Even Newkirk added a few sleepy details from where he was sitting on the edge of Hogan's bottom bunk.

When they were done, they looked to Hogan for his side of the story. "LeBeau, it was a whole misunderstanding."

"What?"

"I wasn't hit."

"Then, why didn't you come with me, Colonel? You were on the ground. I thought-,"

"So did they," Hogan sighed. "So, they left me and went for you. All but one. Robin Hood."

"So, he's the filthy traitor! I should have known!" LeBeau growled, slamming his fist into his hand.

"LeBeau, not so fast! Robin Hood's a triple agent…like General Krause was…only, Robin Hood is on our side."

They stared at him, blankly.

"What I mean is, he pretended to be working with the Gestapo, so, that makes him a double agent. Then, the guy is really still on our side, so that makes him a triple agent. If that helps."

Kinch was the first to speak up, "So, the information…?"

"The information that the Lieutenant was talking to Klink about falls in the bogus category."

"Aw Shucks! We went through _all of that,_ for nothing?"

Hogan put an arm around Carter's slumped shoulders, "Pretty much, Andrew."

Newkirk finally spoke up, "Sir, are you trying to tell me that Louie didn't 'ave to get into that safe, that you didn't 'ave to sneak out on a deadly mission, and that we didn't 'ave to _think_ you went bloody *brown bread on us?"

"I'm afraid so, old boy," Hogan sighed, using his best Cockney accent. "But, at least the Krauts are as 'daft' as we are, and they took the 'bloody' bait."

Newkirk laid down on the bed, grinning at Hogan's attempt, "Sir, you make a rotten Englishman."

"So do you, sometimes," Hogan mused.

Kinch cocked his head, "But, Colonel, the Krauts didn't have time to get the false information. And, what happened to that "triple agent," anyway?"

"That's why I was late for curfew," Hogan looked from one man to the other with a serious expression. "Robin Hood was wounded in the leg, and I had to sneak him out. He's safe now, but he's out of business for quite some time. Likely, the Krauts are going to think that the Underground somehow got wind of this and put a stop to it, taking Robin in for their own method of questioning, and killing the Gestapo Lieutenant."

"Too bad they can't get that fake information," Carter sighed, rubbing his sleepy eyes. It had been a long day, and he was about ready to collapse on the nearest bed.

"Maybe they still can, but right now, you guys need to catch some shut-eye. Newkirk's not the only one who's worn out," Hogan gazed down at the sleeping corporal on his bottom bunk. Sometimes, just sometimes, the Englishman managed to look like an innocent angel.

LeBeau stood beside the Colonel, a fond smile on his face. "He was our rock, Colonel. When we thought you had died, he forced us to choose survival, and prepare for our escape. _I_ thought he was being cold, but he was trying to save the ones that he could. He is a very good person."

"That he is," Hogan bent down to pull the blanket over Newkirk. "The rest of you out of my quarters and into your own beds. And that's an order."

As Carter fumbled after his friends in the dark, he found himself thinking about what LeBeau had said. Newkirk was strong for everyone, when no one was strong for him. It was his loyalty- his protective instinct to save the ones he cared for.

Even though there was hardly any light, Carter went to close the cracked shutters where Newkirk had stood guard through the night. While he was there, he took out his paper and let the light slant over the words. Then, with his pencil, he added a new one.

NEWKIRK

Nifty

Exceptional

Wisecracker

Kind

Irreplaceable

Rock

**Author's Note:**

**1) Brown Bread is Cockney slang for dead. **


	7. The Final K

Chapter Seven: K

Carter didn't know what had happened. Not really.

One second, the Kraut had been eating out of the palm of his hand, believing everything he had said. The next, that same stupid Kraut had seen right through him, and now he was here, in a holding cell, smack dab in the middle of Gestapo Headquarters.

In just a few minutes, they'd question him, beat him up, and beat him up again. Over and over, until he either spilled the beans, or won a free ticket to the firing squad.

Carter didn't _want_ to be scared, but his heart was pounding out of his chest anyway. Knowing him, his big mouth would give away everything, way before the first round of torture had even started.

No, he couldn't think like that. He had to distract himself. He needed to push everything out of his mind, and focus only on the stuff that couldn't kill his friends.

The paper. Thank goodness it wasn't in his pocket. It had his friend's name on it. And, that's what he'd focus on. He closed his eyes and went over it in his mind, picturing each letter.

NEWKIRK. Nifty. _Yep, I'm wearing those socks right now, buddy. And you know what? My feet aren't even cold. And in a place like this to boot!_

Exceptional. _Boy, would you believe it? We've traded places on that one! Now, __**I'm**__ the guy with the Gestapo. Who would've thought it, huh? _

Wisecracker. _I bet you'd call this just another excuse to skip work detail, huh?_

Kind. _You know, you were right about that whole loyalty thing. I bet if you guys know where I'm at, I'll be out of here in a jiffy. Maybe even in time for morning roll call. _

Irreplaceable. _Ya got that right, boy! What would the poor frauleins do without you? Not to mention what would __**we **__do without you? _

Rock. _Geez, I sure could use some of that in here. You wouldn't crack, ever. Well, I'm not going to, either. You just watch. Those filthy whatever LeBeau calls them, Boches, won't get a single word out of __**me**__. _

K. _Huh, I forgot that I never finished…_

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and then, the door opened. A mean looking Gestapo agent stepped into the room. Carter gulped, but looked straight into his chilly gray eyes anyway.

There was no way _this_ man, or the entire Gestapo fleet for that matter, were going to get anything out of him.

No matter what.

~HH~

Only a few seconds had passed since he'd been thrown back into his cell after his round of _questioning_, but he heard more footsteps. _Back so soon?_ He squeezed his eyes closed and threw an arm over them. No cracking. Yes, he hurt, but it was _just_ pain. He'd keep mum for years if he had to, as long as his friends would be alright.

The footsteps grew closer. "The nerve of you Dummkophs! What am I going to tell Le Führer, if his prize double agent is already dead? Did you not think that _he _wanted to have the honor of killing such a treacherous enemy of the all powerful Third Reich?" a voice echoed down the hallway. A mean voice.

Carter wanted to black out before it got closer. But, he couldn't. The Gestapo had ways of making sure of that.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Herr Major. Our orders-,"

"My orders are from the _Führer_; did _he_ give you _your_ orders?"

"No," some keys jingled. "No, Herr Major. Please, beg the Führer to forgive us!"

"The Führer forgives no one!" the major sneered. "That is why, for my sake, this man better be alive!"

The door flew open and Carter slowly sat up. It seemed like he was in a movie- the scene where the prisoner gets taken away to the electric chair. Only, the executioner looked a lot like Newkirk with a mustache.

"On your feet!" Newkirk barked, hoping that Carter could do so.

The young technical sergeant leapt up, but swayed from the effort. Newkirk showed no concern. "Out, raus!"

Carter just stood there, blinking. He didn't _want_ to fall over, but he collapsed anyway. Newkirk was at his side in an instant, raging on about how the Führer would _not_ be pleased at this. He pulled Carter up, half dragging him out the door.

~HH~

Once in the car, Newkirk dropped the gruff, mean Nazi profile and looked over at his friend. "Andrew, what did those bloody Krauts do to you?"

"Nothing much," Carter whispered. He groaned as the car suddenly lurched over a speed bump.

"Nothing much, 'e says." Newkirk sighed. He didn't look at all convinced, but he didn't press Carter either. Carter was in for a huge break from work detail, that much he was sure of.

They drove on in silence for quite some time, until Newkirk cleared his throat nervously and glanced over at his friend, "Andrew, there's an old English word me mum used to say. Blimey, the word's dead everywhere, but she over killed the bloody word anyway. Cene, it is. Means bold, brave, valiant. Don't know quite 'ow to use it, never 'ad to. But, I think you're about as 'cene' as they come."

Carter didn't know what to say, and then he had an idea. "How do you spell it, Newkirk?"

Newkirk blinked. That was _not_ the response he was expecting."What?"

"How is it spelled? With a K, or a C?"

"Blimey, Andrew, 'ow should I know? The word's dead, and so is most of me education," Newkirk kept his eyes glued to the road, but he could still feel Carter's gaze resting on him. He groaned, "Cor, I 'ave no clue! K-E-N- E, I should imagine."

Carter grinned weakly. "Hey, that'll work just great," he sighed before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. A dull throb was working its way up and down his side, but he was too tired to pay it any mind.

After several minutes, Newkirk glanced once more over at his friend who was fast asleep. "Cene indeed, poor lad."

~HH~

"Nifty?" Newkirk's eyebrows went up with every word on the crinkled paper. "Exceptional? Wisecracker? Kind? Irreplaceable? Rock? Kene? Blimey, Andrew, I don't think I deserve all this 'ero worship."

"Course you do!" Carter smiled. "My mom used to do this for all her best friends. Once, she even did one for me! Can you imagine- Little Deer Who Runs Swift And Sure Through The Forest? Geez, I think it took her a whole month!"

"And, you really think all of this is true about me?" Newkirk's voice was soft, almost like he was hoping Carter would say yes.

"Of course I do, buddy! You're one of the best people I know!"

"I'll keep it then, with Mave's picture in me footlocker. Ta, Andrew. Not many people share your opinion, but you always 'ave been different."

"Hey, I think that's what my mom put for the D in Little Deer!" Carter grinned- his signature goofy grin- and Newkirk smiled back.

"She knew what she was talking about, then. Smart woman."

"Yeah, she sure is something. I think you'd like her. She's real smart, and knows all about everything there ever was. Why, she even said that one time, before I was born, my people went around wearing-,"

Newkirk cut him off by throwing an arm around his shoulders, "I'm sure she's wizard, mate."

Anyone credited with raising Andrew Carter, _and _surviving it at the same time, was, in Newkirk's book, equivalent to one of the Seven Wonders of the World. But, then again, Carter himself would have to be one of them as well...

The End

**Author's Note:**

**Congratulations to Abracadebra who guessed the modern version AND the correct spelling of the word that I used! Now that's impressive! **

**1) Cene is a real, Old English word, and it means everything that Newkirk said it does. Our keen is derived from cene, although the meaning has changed over the years. Keen means sharp and highly developed, whereas cene means bold, brave and valiant. Both are pronounced practically the same, and both can very well describe Newkirk.**

**2) Sioux clothing is really very beautiful. Some of the garments were embroidered with beads. Also, porcupine quills or turtle shells were dyed to decorate some of their clothing. So, whatever Carter's mom was about to say (that's up to you) just remember what I told you. From all the old paintings and pictures that I saw, the Sioux are a very modest and beautiful people.**

**This story is dedicated to my mom who takes the letters in someone's name and uses them to come up with kind words that really speak of who the person is. She has inspired me to do the same, and you guys should have seen her reaction when she read this dedication…it was priceless. **


End file.
